


a star team not a team of stars

by diametrical



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Admiral Jinjin, Kirk! Moon Bin, M/M, Star Trek AU, Vulcan! Dongmin, a lot of cursing too, if you dont blink you can probably spot the socky, my star trek knowledge is rip btw, ofc rocky is engineering, sanhas navigation and it'll make sense if you watched that sniper astro play episode, sassy mj is a bomb med student
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-15 18:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9249593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diametrical/pseuds/diametrical
Summary: Moon Bin's outstanding recklessness can't be tamed by a mere human. Fortunately, Lieutenant Commander Lee Dongmin isn't one.(aka disciplined Vulcan meets impulsive cadet who won't stop flirting)previously titled 'wanna be your star (crossed lover)'





	1. cheating's better than repeating

**Author's Note:**

> i told myself i'd write me a sweet fluffy domestic au one day
> 
> but today is not that day so heres an uncalled for space au bc heck, their group name is literally star

Dongmin has always followed protocol. 

 

To say it was in his blood is an understatement; his whole ancestry led him to believe there was absolutely no redeeming value in the act of deviation. From the moment he was born, Dongmin had been sculpted to the standards of Vulcan perfection that had been nothing short of academic prodigy and vast intellectual prowess. Even in family, he acquired an indispensable status with both his mother and father holding high positions on the Vulcan Council. To say the least, he had an upbringing that came from a pedigree few could match, thus it had only been everyone’s expectations that he should naturally inherit a career of similar value. Of course, logic dictated his educational opportunities be best suited to the most prestigious school the Beta Quadrant had to offer: the Vulcan Science Academy. 

 

So when Dongmin had politely declined the offer under the pretense of applying for the Starfleet Academy, he earned the ire of everyone in his planet who had warned him that his efforts to achieve such an academic merit be not atrophied serving under menial human operations. Most of all, he received the brunt of the lecture from his parents who told him that such a vocation would only disparage their flawless reputation. 

 

Though cold and undercutting as they were, these kinds of responses only cemented his decision to look for greener pastures, ones that did not confine with fenced enclosures but rather one that allowed enough stretch for him to pursue bigger things outside of his comfort zone. He knew serving under Starfleet would pave way for an adventure worth twice an entire lifetime dusting away in the safe walls of Vulcan. 

 

This time, however, no one supported him in that logic, so no one said anything when he left his home planet with severed ties from his family, friends and colleagues.

 

Some would have considered it a risky career move or possibly the biggest mistake of his life, but Dongmin hardly thinks so, seeing his ambitiousness had also been equipped with well honed experience to counteract any challenging curveballs thrown in his way. With the way he was built, he had always been prepared for every possible scenario, every course of action backed up with contingency plans that cushioned his failures so he could rise back up again. There was yet anything that could take him by the neck and sweep him off his feet.

 

Little did he know, nothing could have prepared him for that one anomaly that was going to disrupt everything he ever learned and ever was; the ultimate glitch in his database and the gap in his experience. The curveball that was going to call itself Cadet Moon Bin of the S.S. Republic. 

 

~O~

 

Everyone at the Academy hates the simulation test, courtesy of its famous programmer and distinguished Alumni, Lee Dongmin.  

 

To date, there has been an influx of recruits retaking the infamous exam with a preconceived notion that doing so would secure them a rank aboard the S.S. Republic, the newest and most coveted flagship Starfleet can offer, and who’s christening will allow only its most seasoned graduates to man her five year mission in space. 

 

Dongmin altered the parameters of the Kobayashi Maru exam this particular year; the bars set in this new criteria will assess entire units that will serve on the starship instead of assigning individuals according to their specialized departments. The idea had been proposed by the Admiralty to filter out cadets that did not work well within cohorts and brought the possibility of disruption and mutiny amongst crew members. They argued that the philosophy would avoid a chaotic scenario in the Republic’s five year space mission should protocol fail to maintain the people’s strict adherence to the rules. 

 

For the rest of the program, Dongmin is assigned as one of the instructors to monitor the new batches of examinees for the Kobayashi Maru, but despite his frequent visits to the simulation room, he had never crossed paths with a certain cadet taking the exam more times than he was proud of. 

 

Today this particular afternoon, he received orders to attend his immediate admiral’s office at his earliest opportunity, which Dongmin schedules to be about zero six hundred in the morning just to avoid having other appointments moved. He finds it a curious note that his superior officer, Admiral Park Jinwoo, would send this order via mail (actual paper mail, mind you) that he slipped through the gap underneath his door instead of patching it through standard courier that was either a comm or his PADD, almost as if he took all necessary measures to prevent any risks of possible interceptions. An emergency in the headquarters? Perhaps drastic enough it demanded confidentiality at its utmost?

 

Dongmin decides to queue all concerns on his PADD until the he meets with the Admiral himself. The next day, he skims over the course of his breakfast with only the precise amount of calories required, dons his sweater of the science blue and heads out of his room in no less than ten minutes. Recalling his agenda consists of an insurmountable line up of research, classes and missions in the morning alone, he half-runs half-glides through the campus to push Jinwoo's impromptu meeting on the six am mark. 

 

He enters the vicinity of the building and only manages to step within a few meters shy of the door when-

 

“Look out!” 

 

Before he quickly ducks out of the way, Dongmin registers the sight of a young man on a motorcycle, hears the screeching noise of the back wheel skidding to an abrupt halt before the said man catapults into the air from the momentum and dives just beside his feet. 

 

The junior cadet, as Dongmin gathers from the insignia on his uniform, gives a look of pain and agony as he tries to gather his limbs awkwardly splayed on the ground. Rubbing his palms clean of dirt on his pants, he sits up to look at the unmoved Vulcan. “Shit, dammit not again. I hope I didnt hurt you, I’m really sorry I’m so-“ he pauses mid apology, mouth left simply exhaling out the rest of his sentence when he finally fixes his eyes on Dongmin’s incredulously placid, yet incredibly ethereal expression. 

 

 “—in love.” He breathes inaudibly, staring long and hard that Dongmin wonders if he had lost the ability to blink. 

 

He peers at the cadet’s soulless state.  “Are you in need of assistance?”

 

“Damn it, his voice is perfect too."

 

Despite the cadet’s pure intention of whispering it to his heart, Dongmin hears it nevertheless and wrinkles his forehead, thoughts curious in comprehending how one's mind can still function shortly after plummeting his head on the stone cold gravel, and didn’t even bother to notice the blood dripping down his jaw. 

 

The young man widens his eyes at the subtle shift of Dongmin’s expression. “Crap, did you just hear that? Well that was stupid, of course you did. You’re Vulcan. Cute pointy ears by the way. I’ve never dated anyone with that kind of wicked feature, but I could totally be into that.” He sputters, all in one breath.

 

“Cadet, your head is bleeding profusely from a scalp wound you acquired from the fall. I suggest you seek medical assistance urgently should the injury be a result of hemorrhage or skull fracture.” 

 

“And here I was hoping you didn't talk like one,” he sighs, not even acknowledging the gaping wound on his head that apparently rendered him delusional instead of unconscious. He takes one more look at him, scanning from head to toe. “Seriously, what's with you Vulcans and the bowl cut and the weird robotic montone?"

 

Dongmin ignores his comments. "There is a medical institution twenty point five meters west of that block.” He points with his finger, but the cadet finds a PADD tucked in his other hand more interesting than the whereabouts of a clinic.

 

“Can I have your number?” He grabs his own device from his backpack ready for a quick exchange.

 

“Pardon me, I am late for a meeting with the Admiral.” Dongmin replies in the act of walking away but the determined boy circles around in his direction to face him just as he turned. 

 

“Don’t you wanna know my name? It's kind of rude to just walk away, you know?” Dongmin just sidesteps him and walks past briskly, much to the cadet’s chagrin. “Hey, I thought you Vulcans followed protocol!” 

 

"As of the moment, my punctuality precedes the requirements of proper human acquaintance," He checks the time on his PADD. “Perhaps we may be better introduced in less demanding situations.” 

 

“Interesting, because I’ll be demanding for your number next time.” He winks, fingers tapping on his PADD as a warning. The Vulcan only quirks an eyebrow, but not playfully so. 

 

“Perhaps we may be better _not_ introduced at all.”  

 

The door shutting behind him mutes the sound of the cadet’s raucous laughter, as if he took Dongmin's statement as a challenge that he was very much eager to best. 

 

  
_Fascinating._  

 

Normally, Dongmin would have upbraided students who spoke out of their place but this time, he only finds it extremely peculiar that this particular one spoke to him with unusual ease and comfort, unfazed by his cold and cutting Vulcan demeanor that most others shirk away from. No, he didn't shy away either when Dongmin clearly refuted his advancements. Humans aren’t supposed to be enthusiastically receptive when rejected, but he decides to attribute this anomaly to his lack of interaction with them. Or maybe he simply bumped his head too hard to register any ounce of logic. He would have to file a mental note of that cadet for future reference. 

 

By the time he arrives at Jinwoo’s office, it would seem someone else managed to claim his session before he did because he unintentionally overhears Jinwoo deeply occupied in conversation with someone whose voice he does not recognize. 

 

“--because if you keep him in our team, he’s going to cost us our _one_ shot at the Republic.” 

 

“I’m sorry, but I’m not the one pulling the plug here,” he hears Jinwoo quip back. “The assignments are a done deal. The point of this exam is to work with whomever you land in the ditch with.” 

 

“And _ditching_ him is out of the question? You’re an Admiral. Can’t you work some magic—“ 

 

“The only one with that kind of power is the one in charge of the whole assessment program; Lee Dongmin.” Dongmin decides to take this verbal cue to knock on the door as announcement of his arrival, exactly a minute before estimate, and opens the door when Jinwoo promptly tells him to come inside.

 

The moment he puts a foot forward, the  cadet he finds in the Admiral’s office immediately stands up from his chair to bid Jinwoo goodbye despite clearly having unresolved issues. This leads Dongmin to believe his presence just compromised a suspicious rendezvous, his gaze dipping from Jinwoo to the cadet leaving the room without another word, not even an obligatory greeting for the Vulcan eyeing him the entire way out.

 

Once alone, Dongmin finally notices Jinwoo's state of distress by the way he reclines on his chair, his middle and index fingers massaging his temples in soothing circles. Dongmin is also well versed with human etiquette, so he respectfully waits for his officer to start the discussion in his convenience.  

 

“That—“ Jinwoo finally attempts, “was just one of the cadets taking your exam in the fall.” 

 

Dongmin nods in understanding, attentive to the disturbed intonation of his voice. “And what of his concern regarding the exam?” 

 

“Oh,” he leans forward in his chair, thoughtfully phrasing his words.  "Absolutely nothing related to this small task I’m about to require of you.” 

 

Despite his lacking experience, Dongmin has an acute understanding of what it means when a human feels the unnecessary need to assure the harmlessness of a situation, completely connotative of a desperate favor that requires some form of self sacrifice on his part. Still, he continues listening attentively to the details of his possible demise. 

 

“You see, amongst all our applicants for the S.S. Republic, this particular unit that the Board has been observing for weeks proved to be remarkably outstanding in all aspects. That pretty guy in the room earlier? The one with the sweet, heavenly angelic voice? That’s Kim Myungjun of the Unit ASTRO.” He pulls out his PADD on his desk and displays a catalogue of the unit’s personal files. “Three years ago, S.S. Vega brought back pilots with a disease our CMO couldn’t diagnose for weeks in space. Myungjun identified the pathogen in under two hours, and the best part? He was just a sophomore on medical training.”

 

Jinwoo navigates to another slide and reveals the second cadet:  _Park Minhyuk, age eighteen._ “And this one. Can you believe this kid knocked out the formula to transwarp beaming? Figured it out by accident when he was too young to serve on the fleet so he jokingly tried to beam himself aboard the S.S. Intrepid _mid-warp_ ,” he pauses for effect, “Hilarious, huh?" he laughs by himself while Dongmin maintains a straight face. “Anyways. They put him on academic suspension for the prank, but gave him a scholarship afterwards to let him teach the professors the formula.” 

 

“Fascinating.” Dongmin comments, his best general adjective for 'cool'. “And what of this other cadet? Yoon Sanha?”

 

"Shit, you know what, maybe I should've gone with him first because now it kinda sounds underwhelming, " he laments. "Yoon Sanha; barely seventeen. Youngest cadet to finish first in the Starfleet Academy marathon. Honestly, we didn't think much of him at first, but the Board’s been keeping a close eye on him ever since he showed an uncanny ability to lock on objects moving at lightning speed," Jinwoo shrugs. “Claims he just learned it from video games.”

 

Dongmin observes that the age demographic for the cadets seemed to be exceptionally younger than most human counterparts in their department. Although back in his planet, it's an acceptable norm to let an eight year old Vulcan pilot a shuttlecraft, but human children? Put them on cruise control and it'll eventually lead to a lot of fire and screaming and disrupting alien civilizations, but Jinwoo optimistically believes that fresh young minds have exactly the kind of juices the Republic needs to boldly take them where no one has ever gone before.

 

Well, even if it also means never getting back home either. There's a reason why only 10% of cadets actually train for something as long as a five year mission in space. It's the kind of mission where they are given honorary medals but in the end, their families are the ones receiving it instead. 

 

That's why Starfleet badly needs all the good recruits with nothing to lose. 

 

Jinwoo is still talking. "They're the ideal crew members. Not that we're biased. I'm just saying their involvement in the Republic would greatly benefit the Federation. But unfortunately, the Board has a problem with qualifying this unit for the Bridge.”

 

Dongmin skims over the list, attempting to identify the source of his officer's concerns. "Assuming their impressive credentials are not the issues of your distress, in what ways are these cadets troubling to you, Admiral?" 

 

"Oh no," he dismisses the notion with a wave of his hand. "Not them. Not at all. I'm talking about the last one on the list here."

 

Jinwoo enlarges the image on his PADD, displaying for Dongmin an exceptionally familiar profile absent of bruises and a bleeding forehead, but still flaunting his signature cheeky smirk. It never occured to him that he'd be reintroduced so soon and so out of context. "Our little punchline: Cadet Moon Bin." 

 

The name Moon Bin wasn't a mouthful to him, but that character on the file boasted several outstanding field performances in the Starfleet Academy, none of which Dongmin could have deduced the roguish boy on the motorcycle was capable of handling. 

 

"Now this one here is a pretty remarkable unit on its own. His aptitude tests are off the charts, he’s a brilliant pilot, and he's shown excellent potential as a Starfleet Captain," Jinwoo lets his sentence hang in the air ominously for a moment, which Dongmin surmises as an upcoming 'but' scenario.

 

"But," he says at last. "He's had some…disciplinary issues,"  Jinwoo then displays an even longer record of severe misconducts which lists a number of arrest cases and several academic suspensions. Dongmin finds himself scrolling down more pages than he anticipated. “And despite the fact that he has an aptitude akin to a genius, he’s failing most of his classes. All members of the unit _have_ to receive an academic approval, so if ASTRO is ever to get the keys to the Republic ..." he trails, heaving a deep breath before continuing. “…he’s going to have to pass the exam. Which is where you will come in by the way."

 

Dongmin takes a moment to purposely stall, letting the Admiral's implication sink on his mind before he points out the obvious question. "If I may, sir, are you insinuating that as the authority of such an exam that would determine the unit's qualifications for the Republic, I should employ some form of bias in my judgement in order to secure their positions aboard the Starship?" 

 

Jinwoo only makes a sound that neither confirms nor denies his query. "Well," he squeaks, right shoulder hitching up to reach his ear. "When you put it like that, that does sound like cheating, doesn't it?" 

 

"Such offense, if found out, could result in the termination of _my position_ aboard the ship."

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t ask you to cheat, Dongmin. I would never," he chokes, affronted. “It's just--it’s going to cost us some really good and useful hands on the ship if no one knows how to fix that guy." 

 

"I must profess that I have met the cadet on a recent occasion." Dongmin states, deeming the information relevant. "I believe he has expressed...willingness of cooperation to me." 

 

Jinwoo's expression shifts from dismay to utter disbelief in a microsecond. Dongmin isn’t sure what he has just done, but he just experienced an instant wave of regret. "What an excellent suggestion, Lieutenant Commander!" He says excitedly, eyes suddenly lighting up with an idea.  "You can tutor Moon Bin!" 

 

Dongmin tilts his head to a fraction of a degree. "I did not mean to imply that I would take over-"

 

“My god, this fixes everything! Not to mention your Vulcan methods are remarkably effective."

 

“Admiral, I am not certain if I have the carrying capacity to handle another-“

 

"I really appreciate you volunteering like this," Jinwoo cuts deliberately. “We really need more people like you in these unfortunate times."

 

The young Vulcan raises a skeptical eyebrow at his Admiral’s very unusual, yet very human like behavior. “Admiral, I believe you are employing the tactic of ignoring my voiced disapproval for the sake of forcing me—“

 

"Dongmin, I'm desperate." Jinwoo finally admits. "The Board is breathing down my neck and my head's gonna end up on the chopping block if I don’t fix this."

 

"The Academy does not sanction death penalties for-"

 

“It's just an expression, Dongmin."

 

“You are tasking me with a possibly time consuming matter while I am simultaenously burdened by my other duties and responsibilities as an instructor of the Academy."  

 

Jinwoo only purses his lips, eyes pleading, and once again, Dongmin ends up with the shortest end of the straw. 

 

"Very well."

 

And that's how he ends up in the simulation room at two in the afternoon instead of wrapping up the remaining progress of his botanical research. He laments how Jinwoo can remarkably manipulate the situation to bribe favors even when Dongmin expressed no interest when he said he’d double the Christmas bonus. He decides it best to just acquiesce to his superior's command instead of vetoing the only other man willing to fund his plant experiments.

 

Sometimes, it makes him wonder how someone as childishly petulant as Jinwoo even rose to a position as venerable as Admiral. 

 

For now, he’s in the observation deck checking attendance for unit ASTRO and it doesn’t surprise him one bit when he finds the captain's chair devoid of its assigned trainee for the day. He walks over towards the comm and transmits a message through the speakers in the simulation field, the exact replica of the Republic Bridge. 

 

"Is your teammate not aware he is part of a scheduled session today?" He asks, voice booming in their ears without warning and effectively making Sanha jump in his seat.  

 

“Um...he should be?” Sanha asks the air around him and glances suspiciously at the one-way mirror above.

 

“He told me he was studying for it last night.” Minhyuk adds.  

 

Dongmin checks the time, clock ticking to make way for the next batch. “Did it ever occur to him that in order to pass the exam, he should, at the very least, show up for it?”  

 

“This isn’t the first time,” Myungjun deadpans from the communications side of the room. “He usually comes just right before you give up waiting.” 

 

Dongmin opens his PADD, ready to scratch off their names. “If he fails to appear in T-minus one minute, I will have to demerit your points-“

 

“What the hell-!” a loud gasp from the hallway intervenes his threat. “Why does this replicator machine charge so much for a goddamn cup of coffee?!”

 

It takes Moon Bin a few long strides before he appears in Dongmin’s line of sight in the simulation room, looking dissatisfied with the cup of orange juice in his hand. 

 

“Look who still can’t show up on time.” Myungjun bickers.

 

"Look who still pisses me off.” Moon Bin volleys back. 

 

"You almost got us disqualified!" Sanha blurts. "Again!" 

 

Moon Bin gestures for him to calm down so he can explain himself. "It wasn't my fault, alright? I had an accident with this gorgeous Vulcan and the next thing I knew I was bleeding the shit out of my forehead. Thank god for hyposprays, though.”

 

Dongmin had been absolutely wrong to assume a simple nog on the brain would, in any way, diminish his capacity to smart mouth. At least his head looks healed and ready to take another beating, which he plans to explicitly do so in all the right places with this test.

 

“Sit down, Cadet.” Dongmin commands through the system.

 

“Hey, I know that voice!” 

 

Dongmin wonders if there's a unique inflection in the way he says the word 'cadet' that makes the young man recognize him almost instantaneously. He watches the cadet eagerly sit on his chair and swivel around to face the mirror, and despite it being transparent only on Dongmin’s view, Moon Bin somehow manages to make direct eye contact with him. His smile is wide and crooked and its weird but it’s also kind of endearing. “Are you watching me today? Do I get something if you like what you see here?”

 

“We will begin the simulation on my mark. 3…2…1…”

 

“You’re so gonna love me."

 

“Mark.” 

 

~O~

 

Dongmin didn’t see this coming. 

 

At first, the initial phase started out smoothly. The trainees routed a series of courses that tested their abilities in their key positions; Myungjun’s adeptness at the scientific and medical aspect, Minhyuk’s expertise at warp core mechanics, and Sanha’s exemplary proficiency at firearms. 

 

Even Moon Bin was doing better than he expected. He knew the correct commands and the optimal solutions to all of the problems they’ve encountered in the simulation. Jinwoo's ominous warnings seemed to have fallen short of his drastic expectations, but it had only been a matter of time until things slowly started plummeting downhill, right when they were starting to approach the boss level.

 

“Caaaptain,” Myungjun drawls absentmindedly, the report already scripted in his head from the number of times he’s rehearsed the simulation. “We’ve received a distress signal from the civilian freighter Kobayashi Maru. The ship has just struck a gravitic mine in the Klingon Neutral Zone and is rapidly losing power, hull integrity and life support. Starfleet orders their immediate rescue.” 

 

Moon Bin only pretends to be concerned. “Oh no.” 

 

Minhyuk diligently waits on standby for an order until it dawns on him that Bin had no intentions of elaborating. “Do you, perhaps, want us to do something about it?”

 

Their acting captain only swivels playfully in his chair, attention span scattered everywhere. “Can we at least verify the distress signal first?"

 

Myungjun rolls his eyes but obediently displays the schematics on his dock. “Sensor readings are indeterminate.”

 

Moon Bin makes disappointed clicking sounds with his tongue. “Just as I suspected. Okay then, let's plot a course back home."

 

Sanha absentmindedly agrees until he actually processes the order. "Plotting intercept course for the rescue of the--wait what?" 

 

Moon Bin stops spinning, eager to clarify. "You heard me, helmsman. Warp us out of here."

 

Completely caught off guard by the order, Sanha glances at Minhyuk for support, but even Minhyuk hesitates to aft the thrusters just in case he heard it wrong. This whole thing just sounds so wrong. 

 

"Maximum warp." Moon bin presses. "And punch it."

 

"What the hell are you doing? This isn’t what we planned." Myungjun snarls at him with a degree of restraint, trying to look composed in front of the observers, but making sure Moon Bin sees exactly just how pissed he is. 

 

From the observation deck, Dongmin notes a noticeable surge in tension and logs it accordingly.

 

Moon Bin responds with a toothy smile. From what it looked like, he actually seems to derive hilarity from the situation rather than complete anxiety of which Myungjun has currently epitomized. “You know, the only possible way to attempt a rescue mission is to cross the Klingon Neutral Zone, which is, by the way, suicide. Furthermore, those 'civilians' could also just be a ruse to lure us into a death trap."

 

"So you want us to abandon the mission?" Myungjun asks incredolously. “We can’t just abandon protocol."

 

Minhyuk joins to back up Myungjun. “And it’s a direct order from Starfleet headquarters!” 

 

Sanha nods in agreement. “And we could be marooned on another planet for mutiny.” 

 

“I could maroon you idiots right now for mutiny,” Moon Bin points an accusatory finger at them, “Think for a moment.” He says, connecting the finger to his temple. “Even if it wasn’t a trap, rescuing _them_ could mean killing _us,_ and I won't allow that.” 

 

“You think rules exist just so you can disagree with them?" Myungjun counters, unwavering in his predicament but it does nothing to sway his captain's solid disposition. “We’re supposed to be following orders."

 

“Then follow mine." Moon Bin answers brazenly. He turns to the two younger cadets on the navigation dock. “Do I need to repeat myself? Get us out of here.” 

 

Myungjun vividly blanches. He's about to protest once again when Minhyuk interrupts them with a surprising report. 

 

“Captain, my readings for the Kobayashi Maru have disappeared! The Klingons have destroyed their ship.” Minhyuk calls, pulling the attention of everyone on deck.  “And now they’re locking phasers on us!”

 

Moon Bin groans knowing that they could have avoided this whole debacle without the time wasted for chivalrous mutiny. He takes one good look at Myungjun just to see the dust of guilt settle on his face. “We’re doing this my way now.” He turns with a smooth twist of his heel and settles down on the chair, intensely focused on anything but Myungjun’s visible struggle to comply. 

 

“What do we do?!” Sanha half questions, half screams at Moon Bin as the Klingons commenced drilling their ship with an overwhelming torrent of photon lasers. 

 

“Calm down.” 

 

“Oh, okay sure,” Sanha shrugs. "I mean yeah. We’re only getting killed here. No big deal.” 

 

At the observation deck, even Dongmin wonders why the cadet had been so unusually calm and collected towards a situation where most others would have been rendered susceptible to indecisiveness. He’s not sure why, but like always, his musings always came with a possible theory. He rewires the simulation into a more challenging mode.

 

At this, a massive explosion suddenly breaches a sector of their ship off screen. “Captain, our shields are at 23%,” Minhyuk reports with one hand firing combat weapons, and the other one typing combinations to activate emergency drills. “We can’t take another hit like that.” 

 

Myungjun turns into a shade of red that seemed biologically impossible. “May I suggest, I don’t know, fighting back?!” 

 

“Nah.” 

 

“For crying out loud when are you going to stop acting like a complete ass-“

 

A static glitch in the system momentarily shuts down power in the entire Bridge for a brief second before the computers chimed back to life again, whirring operationally as if nothing had happened. 

 

Dongmin narrows his eyes, initial suspicions adding up to bolster his preconceived theory. “Interesting.” 

 

The moment the power comes back on, Moon Bin springs into action, expertly carrying out a series of commands as if he had been reborn with a brand new resolve. 

 

“Divert all auxiliary power to forward shields and fire on all warbirds with singular ammunition!” There’s a spark of fire in his eyes as he monitors the simulation screen with intense focus, and it leaves Dongmin stunned by the sudden transition of his personality almost as if a switch just turned on inside of him.  

 

“But 'Captain',” Minhyuk protests with a mocking intonation. “Their shields are still up.” 

 

“Are they?” Moon Bin asks in an impish way where he doesn't imply it as question but more so as a clarification, so Minhyuk checks the schematics once again and finds that astonishingly, the protective field barriers around the Klingon vessel has inexplicably plummeted to a zero despite not having received any hostile attacks from anyone within vicinity.

 

He blinks at the diagrams in disbelief. “…no, they’re not.” 

 

“Then fire everything we’ve got!”

 

Moon Bin sits back with a satisfied grin on his face while his team pummels their hull with a myriad of firepower that quickly overpowers the enemy ship and diffuses it into flaming shards. It takes them less than a minute to completely wipe the vessel off the infrared map until they realize the fight was over and that they had beat the simulation.

 

  
_Okay._  They had managed to beat the simulation.

 

And the look on Myungjun, Minhyuk and Sanha's faces says it all.

 

Moon Bin appears to be the only one unaffected by the complete 180 degree turn of events. He captures this by the way he saunters around the Bridge, stopping just adjacent to the one way mirror above where he knows a certain Vulcan was observing. He grabs his orange juice from the table on the side and takes a well deserved sip.

 

"So, what's my prize?" 


	2. a paradox of personality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant believe i marathoned star trek for research. thats 8 hours of my life im never getting back. 
> 
> the things i do for astro

Moon Bin sighs as he leans on a desk he's chained onto with a couple of handcuffs.

 

"You know, when I thought about being alone with you in a small quiet place, an interrogation room was not what I had in mind." 

 

The Vulcan leans forward to bridge the gap between him and the cadet relentlessly shackling his restraints. "I shall require your utmost honesty when I ask you this question: Have you stolen something?" 

 

Moon Bin just grins. “Your breath with my performance, perhaps? 

 

Dongmin's hard gaze doesn't waver. "A poor performance," he corrects. "Innately reflective of your character and future as a Starfleet Captain. And we have not yet considered the fact that you are guilty of pilfering through classified programming codes that allowed you to alter the conditions of the test."

 

"Most people would have just said ‘cheating’” he retorts with a scoff. "Which I most certainly did not do, by the way."

 

Dongmin narrows his eyes, a signature look of his that only signified he was not the least bit convinced. He decides to turn to other methods of more effective information exchange. 

 

With a press of a button on his PADD, the door whooshes open to his command, and in walks his three other members; Myungjun, Minhyuk and Sanha all neatly lined up by height as they take their seats facing across Moon Bin, while Dongmin officiates the scene by leaning on the center of the table overlooking them all. 

 

"You are all aware that the simulation is programmed to be unwinnable, correct?"

 

He receives a bunch of vigorous nods in return, save for Moon Bin rolling his eyes.

 

"Yet, for the first time since the Academy was established, a rookie unit has inexplicably managed to claim such a victory, now why is that?" Dongmin makes a point to look at everyone straight in the eye, affirmative that if he stared long enough, someone would eventually cave under his ministration.

 

"I'll tell you why: you don’t like the fact that your test is beatable." Moon Bin exclaims, cheeky grin as if he had just exposed him.

 

“I prefer my test beaten fairly," Dongmin counters, "And not achieved through means of cheating." He adds before slipping his hand into his pocket to produce a small chip that he lifts in front of them to see, held between his thumb and index finger. Dongmin makes a point to closely observe Moon Bin’s reaction through a covert sidelong glance, and he notes that there was indeed a subtle change in features that confirmed his suspicions.  "Cadet Moon Bin. This classified code has been located amongst your possessions—courtesy of an affiliate in this room."

 

The moment he finishes his sentence, Moon Bin is already looking at his three other members in stark fury as if he weren't expecting to be betrayed in such a fashion, but had a ready inkling on who might have been behind it. 

 

"I think I know which one of you snakes ratted me out." Moon Bin glowers in a gruff whisper, staring at his presumptive culprit. "Ssssssssssssanha." 

 

Sanha worriedly leans in on Myungjuns ear. "Snake? How many S's did _he_ just add to my name? I heard like, twelve."

 

Moon Bin jerks up from his seat, a pointed finger accusing in Sanha's general direction. "It was you wasn't it?!" 

 

"I didn't tell anyone!" Sanha interjects with a cracked voice of protest. "I swear I didn't-"

 

Moon Bin cuts him off. “The hell you did!”

 

"Hey," Minhyuk warns with a low and steady growl. "If he says he didn’t, he didn’t. Don't take it out on him. None of us knew about this meeting." From afar, one could see Sanha's obvious relief that he had a Minhyuk by his side. 

 

"And don't look at me." Myungjun adds, honesty blotting through his calm and collected expressions. "I had absolutely no participation in this." 

 

Moon Bin's scratches the nape of his neck, projecting his obvious confusion in front of everyone. "Then who-?" 

 

"You did." 

 

Dongmin’s plaintive answer makes everyone's head snap back towards the quiet observer jotting down log information about the whole scene. "Just now, I have proof of you verbally admitting your falsehood despite the fact I did not actually locate a valid copy of the code in your possessions."

 

Moon Bin blinks in disbelief. "You...were lying?"

 

"Vulcans _cannot_ lie.” Dongmin points out. “I simply suggested a statement that proved to be an effective stimulus in extracting the information I needed." He shuts off his PADD and tucks it between his wrist and the crook of his elbow as he looks at the unit once again. "No further action should be in effect. Cadets Kim Myungjun, Park Minhyuk, Yoon Sanha are dismissed." 

 

The three members hesitate for a moment before clicking their ankles together with a chorus of ‘Yes, sir!’ and shuffling out of the room in hoarse whispers, mostly about what severe consequences were imminent for Moon Bin.

 

The minute the room falls into complete silence, Dongmin does none other than fix his gaze on Moon Bin trying to seem occupied scuffing his toe along the ground. “I can explain—“

 

“It would behoove you to spare me the falsehoods and admit your transgressions.” Dongmin warns him. “Simply answer this; did you or did you not override the sequence, cause a glitch in the system, and consequently tricked the program into playing the simulation to your favor?”

 

“Fine. Maybe I tweaked the system a little but—” he raises an index finger imploringly. “Don't I get points for originality? I mean, has anyone ever tried to do what I did?” 

 

“No one has ever tried to abandon a stranded crew against Starfleet orders.” 

 

“Well then, has anyone ever thought that maybe that’s where they went wrong?” he says with an annoyingly inquisitive voice. “Because I did, and I just beat the simulation.” he points to himself. "I passed the exam!”

 

Dongmin quirks an eyebrow. “I see you gravely misunderstand, cadet. Indeed, you have managed to beat the simulation, but you did not, in the very meaning and essence of the word, ‘pass' the test." 

 

Moon Bin visibly balks at his words. "What the hell does that mean-"

 

"It would seem you took the exam without even divining its main purpose." 

 

"Well since you look like you're planning to keep me detained here for the next hour or so, why don't you enlighten me?" He suggests, sitting back and stretching his arms to relax them on the back of his head. 

 

"The purpose of the exam is to experience fear and empathy,” Dongmin replies without missing a beat. “A tandem of crucial emotions you _failed_ to deliver when confronted with the rescue of the stranded crew,” he pauses, making sure Moon Bin caught on his inflection on the word ‘failed'. "Moreover, it was to assess how well you function within a unit which explains why your own crew rebelled against your decisions seeing as they possessed a moral conscience.” 

 

“Explains why they didn't have room left for a brain." he mutters under his breath. To Moon Bin, it made absolutely no sense to simply discredit his super innovative way of beating the exam by reformatting it. No one's ever had the guts to attempt such a reckless and risky endeavor so it should have earned him accolades and even a captain's license. Yet here he was; shackled to a desk by some self righteous pointy eared bastard who wouldn’t bat one of his gorgeous eyelids at such raw intelligence before him. But it dawns on Moon Bin that of course, _of course_ Vulcans only acknowledge intelligence measurable by some kind of test. Lee Dongmin is no such different Vulcan. 

 

"So what're you gonna do?" He provokes, ready for punishment. "Turn me in to the Board for violating about fifty something codes of conduct? Sure, go ahead. It'll make a nice addition to my tab." 

 

It takes the Lieutenant Commander approximately half a minute to answer, and Moon Bin doesn't like how that unnerves him just a little bit. He didn't even hesitate arresting him earlier in the simulation room on a whim, so there must be something worse going on in his head other than that shitty ass bowl cut—

 

“I will not inform anyone of this.” Dongmin says at last, deflecting the course of conversation in a direction Moon Bin did not expect.

 

“Y-you’re not? Well why the hell not?” He demands, not that he wanted some sort of punishment, but it was always given to him that it felt almost unnatural to not receive one. "For a second there, I thought you were gonna make me run laps. Or send me to bed without dinner."

 

“Seeing you’ve already had an outstanding line up of detentions and service penalties in your previous years, I highly doubt any of them had been a successful feat in disciplining you at all.” Dongmin explains calmly. “I do not believe in the fruitless repetition of punishments with no redeeming value. Instead, I shall be offering something new."

 

Moon Bin massages the bridge of his nose. “I guess I was wrong. Not all of you Vulcans are cheap sell outs." 

 

"It would be illogical to generalize a group based on a single sampling.” 

 

"Really? Yeah, well are you basically saying not all of you wear the same hideous type of bangs?" 

 

"It is a standard fashion amongst Vulcans to prefer convenient styles over flattering ones, however," Dongmin folds his hands on the desk and straightens his back. “I am not here to discuss with you about your physical preferences-"

 

"Whichisyouminusthebowlcut." He sputters too quickly.

 

“Pardon?"

 

“Nothing."

 

"I am here to give you your new schedule as your new instructor." Dongmin links a file from his PADD to Moon Bin's. "Your one on one class with me starts tomorrow."

 

"Are you actually giving me your number?" Moon Bin grins suggestively as Dongmin adds another note with a hard glare.

 

"Do not be late." 

 

“You got it."

 

~○~

 

Moon Bin doesn’t show up that morning. Dongmin wonders why he expected to be anything other than disappointed.

 

It’s a popular fact that this cadet was an inveterate slacker who gets no more than two ticks of attendances under his name, yet it remains even more so as an enigma to several professors whenever he hands in examination papers he sloppily answered under twenty minutes, and gets near perfect marks. Despite failing him because of the strict point system regarding attendance, the instructors of the Academy still regarded Moon Bin as some kind of phenomenon. Dongmin recalls one such occasion when he sorted through submissions of theses and came across what constituted as the shortest, yet most brilliant one he had ever read, only to find out it was Junior Cadet Moon Bin’s lazy attempt for an extra credit. The brevity of his answers, yet coupled with conciseness was a clear indicator that he was a master of split second reasoning skills, a hardwired trait of many Starfleet Captains he had come to know. 

 

Now if there's anything that Dongmin despises, its unfulfilled potential. He firmly believes in maximizing the limitless extent of knowledge, and to see a vessel of such capacity reduce himself to idle work and irresponsible means almost becomes physically painful to him. He needs to fix this, and he's determined to pliably shape Moon Bin into a more fitting character under his department. 

 

It's two hours past the scheduled appointment, and although he’s committed himself to finishing other tasks in an effort to not waste time, he does not appreciate what’s being done to him, and if he were to consult the human urban dictionary, he believes the closest colloquial term would be, ‘getting stood up.’

 

He's not certain what ridiculously good of a reason Moon Bin has to miss his lecture, so before he proceeds on his quest to find out, he consults several students of the school who were familiar with Moon Bin’s pathological habit of wandering around various distant places, yet most of their answers had been rather annoyingly vague and unhelpful due to the wide range of inconsistencies the cadet had built around his reputation. 

 

("Usually at this hour, he’s probably somewhere in a ditch, usually hung-over from some kind of bar he went to.”)  

 

("If you ask me, he’s most likely out with his motorcycle gang doing all sorts of reckless stuff around the city.”)

 

(“Did you check his room? He probably forgot to set his alarm.”)

 

With a frustrated sigh, he thanks the female student he briefly interviewed and dismisses her. It's a growing pain for him to realize that none of the intel he corralled that morning offered any contribution to being a step closer to finding the cadet’s whereabouts. As a last resort decides to inquire the very core of sources, which was Moon Bin’s unit, ASTRO. The reason why he neglected to do it in the first place was because they were just as elusive to find as Moon Bin himself. They were prodigious cadets to begin with, so their schedules hardly overlapped with an opportunity to see Dongmin at his convenience. Luckily, he finds Kim Myungjun, suspiciously in a meeting with Admiral Park Jinwoo once again. It’s none of his business to meddle with affairs (no matter what kind they might be), so he gets right to the point when Myungjun answers the door.

 

“Good luck finding him. He’s never where he should be.” Myungjun says singularly without helpful cooperation. Dongmin assumes he was still at odds with the particular subject of ‘Moon Bin’ because of the mishap during the simulation, and he decides it best to not prod any further.

 

“Perhaps the other members are aware of his location?”

 

Myungjun hitches his shoulder in a could-not-care-less shrug. “Maybe, but there’s a high chance Bin asked them to cover for him. Minhyuk would probably tell you, but don’t bother asking Sanha, though.”

 

“Is Cadet Yoon Sanha unreliable?”

 

“No, he’s like an innocent baby really. But that's exactly why Bin finds it an easy job to brainwash him sometimes,” Myungjun admits. “Sanha would believe him if he said the clouds were made out of cotton candy.” 

 

“Duly noted.”

 

He’s getting somewhere at least. Myungjun proved to be a helpful interlocutor by informing him the whereabouts of Park Minhyuk. Dongmin eventually locates him inside one of the schools off limits facility; the boiling room. He’s apparently allowed in the quarantined area for the sole reason it was quarantined and no one is dumb enough to walk in and interrupt Park Minhyuk testing out his warp devices.

 

“Okay, fine I’ll give you a hint just so you’ll leave me alone.” Minhyuk says, lifting his visor as he steps away from drilling into a motor component. “My bet is that he’s at this old abandoned building again just outside the city. Go find it yourself.”

 

“Do you perhaps have any inclination of what he could be doing?”

 

Minhyuk thinks about it for a moment. “A wild guess, but I’m only gonna say this once and you're gonna let me walk away, deal?"

 

Dongmin nods uncertainly. Minhyuk takes a breath.

 

 "I'm 420% sure it's something illegal."

 

Up until now, Dongmin still doesn’t understand why it took Minhyuk ever ounce of resistance to stifle a laugh. He wasn't able to draw any hints whatsoever from his statement and he blames it on his lack of experience in human colloquialism. He does conclude at some point that Moon Bin strategically sequestered himself from any trace of civilization and if he had any reasons for doing so, it was only logical to denote that it was something inherently dangerous.

 

He’s had enough.

 

It’s not like he wanted to break the rules, but knowing a convenient solution at hand and not being able to put it to use was beyond frustrating, so he grabs his PADD and inputs Moon Bin's number to identify his exact location. PADD numbers never initially served to be used as a tracking device; only a handful of intellectuals knew how to rekey the code into a location marker because one: it wasn’t legal in the strictest sense, and two: most humans would find it highly unethical. Though he had a mandate that forbade him from doing such things, Dongmin eventually established that in dealing with a situation involving Moon Bin, it would be illogical to strictly play by the rules. He would never be able to keep up and assert his authority.

 

He hesitates for a stretched instant, before finally clicking proceed on the screen. A map sweeps a rough topography across the display, the symbol of a red dot signifying his desired location pinpoints to a somewhat sketchy part of the city right on the outskirts, just where security is often breached by gangs and thugs and most of the houses there were abandoned. It somewhat coordinated with Minhyuk’s descriptions, so it had to be it. 

 

But the only way to verify the whole thing was to personally get down there himself.

 

Dongmin tucks his device back into his bag and sets out on his way.  

 

~O~

 

He arrives at what most people would call a ghost town, a perfect setting for covert illegal operations. The buildings were clearly deserted, the streets were budding with mounds of grass, and there were scant signs of any occupants. Still, he follows the guide on his PADD, twisting and turning to the nooks of the corridors until it relayed that he was at very close proximity with the red dot. He’s bracing himself for what he’s about to encounter.

 

Sure enough, Dongmin hears quipping noise in the dark brooding halls of the alleyways.  And it wouldn’t have surprised him if it weren’t for the fact that when he opened the door that led to a giant yard, he discovers Moon Bin. Amongst a sea of puppies.

 

He was hunkered along the ground, pants rolled up to his knees to reveal solid heart shaped calves, while holding three puppies against his chest as the rest of the pack wriggles into a mess underneath him, each squirming for the sensation of a belly rub. They were all a mix of different breeds, and they all seemed to be overwhelmingly too attached to him; every time Moon Bin attempted to stand up and go, they would squirm and whimper until he bends down once again to pacify their cries, then he would attempt the same thing again only to be stopped by big eyes and soft whimpers that turns the whole thing into a vicious cycle of being trapped inside the coop. Indeed, it was a sight to behold, most certainly because it had been the least of his expectations to find the school’s resident rebel indulging himself in the embrace of cute baby animals. Dongmin wonders if this had been the reason he couldn’t show up. 

 

Settling his hands at the small of his back, he silently studies Moon Bin, watching him expertly control the yelping litter by diverting their attention with a treat, and offering them with a set of commands they willingly obeyed. Dongmin lets the scene continue until one of the puppies, who couldn't seem to squeeze his way into the Moon Bin's affection, spots him from the distance and wobbles over to him with a lulling tongue and a wagging tail, hoping to get a stroke from him instead. 

 

Moon Bin notices the stray escaping him from his peripheral view and whips his head around to call him, only to find Dongmin standing in the middle of the alleyway, staring blankly at the puppy rearing up on its hind legs begging for a soft pet in the head. 

 

A smile blooms on his lips.

 

Moon Bin lets the puppies hop of his lap first before quickly standing up to approach the Vulcan, the dogs still huddled around his feet like a cluster of lost chicks tailing after their mother. 

 

“First Officer Dongmin,” he cocks with a half curious smile that melted into a smirk. “You haven’t been stalking me, have you?”

 

Dongmin flinches at the implication. “I had been merely investigating on your whereabouts since I am responsible for your schedule.”  He replies, eyes still trained to the puppy tilting its head. Dongmin notes the breed as a form of Spitz; medium sized, white fur, curled tail and pointed ears, but what he doesn’t know is how to get it to stop jumping on his leg. “I am not sure what appropriate course of action I am to engage with this-“

 

“You gotta pet him.” Moon Bin instructs. “That’s the only appropriate response.”

 

The Vulcan’s eyebrows gravitated towards his hairline. “I must profess I do not have sufficient background in dealing with…Terran animals.”

 

Moon Bin laughs in amusement; so Lieutenant Commander Dongmin was a jack of all trades, a Vulcan of purely polymathic knowledge, but was a character rendered utterly incompetent in the simple task of petting a dog. “What kind of sad childhood did you have to not know this?” He teases while scooping the puppy and tucking it comfortably between his arms. “But there’s always a first time for everything. Do you want to hold him?”

 

“That will not be necessary.” Dongmin answers, hands still planted to his back to avoid getting anything forcefully thrusted to him.

 

 After a few beats of silence and awkwardly stroking the puppy, Moon Bin spurts, “I wasn’t expecting you to find me here.”

 

“Neither did I expect what I’d find,” Dongmin neutrally admits, displaying none of his underlying shock. “Though I am to understand that you neglected to attend our scheduled appointment because of this…activity of yours?”

 

Moon Bin chuckles an embarrassed laugh. “I meant to finish this early, but there was a new box of litters that came by,” he explains, gesturing towards the puppies vying for his attention. “I tried but I couldn’t leave them all alone. I’m kind of responsible for them now.”

 

“How was this task relegated to you in the first place?”

 

“Well, you know how there aren’t a lot of shelters nowadays? Too many strays, too little volunteers. These guys have nowhere to go and state regulations impounds all strays, then put to sleep those who don’t get adopted.” He explains, mouth forming into a thin agitated line. “I wasn’t going to allow that, so I gathered them all here where no one can find us. I’d probably get my ass hunted for trespassing this place but at this point I really don’t give a shit.” Moon Bin says sternly, but gives away a laugh when an unexpectedly eager lick from the puppy eases all the tension from his face.

 

“I see.”

 

Dongmin's face was blank as per usual but it was mostly because he still hasn’t processed the fact that what Moon Bin had been mysteriously doing this whole time was tending to the welfare of abandoned strays. Rumors surrounding his secret deeds had gone so far off the grid with the way the cadet cultivated a tough image and rebellious nature. He was apparently an interesting juxtaposition of sorts, outwardly displaying a careless and insensitive attitude, yet belied by the gentle, almost motherly way he’s cuddling the squirming pup to his chest.

 

“Listen,” Moon Bin starts. “You can’t tell anyone about this. It will ruin my entire reputation.”

 

Dongmin's eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Cadet, everybody is already under the impression that you are constantly involved in unlawful interests.”

 

 _“Exactly.”_ Moon Bin elongates the syllables to further emphasize his point. “Maybe you Vulcans don’t have a social life, but us humans have to live up to certain expectations; I’m the leader of a badass unit. Can you imagine what’ll happen if they find out I’m also practically a den mother? I’ll never live it down!”

 

“Your logic is completely flawed in various ways however,” Dongmin pauses. “Since you requested it, I have no qualms of keeping this matter to our utmost confidentiality.”

 

“Oh thank god.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “Now that's settled, you mind if we don’t do any of that stuff we’re supposed to do today? I’ll be happy to double the workload next time but right now I just don’t trust these puppies with their lives.” An acknowledging tilt from Dongmin was all the permission Moon Bin needed.

 

Dongmin observes him excitedly return to the tumbling throng of dogs and sighs; he had a whole speech prepared about the importance of responsibility and the act of empathy towards others, but Moon Bin could not have epitomized those principles better than he did now; his efforts to safeguard something so fragile and helpless were no doubt a reflection of his inborn chivalry and certainly one that promised a bright future of leadership ahead of him. It would seem he wasn't a completely hopeless case as Jinwoo and many others would have thought.

 

He decides disciplining the cadet will just have to be reserved for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had something way different planned but i scrapped the idea and ended up with an outline way wayyy longer than i expected
> 
> i also changed the title bc with the way the story's going now, i thought it fit better 
> 
> this is still mainly binu but since we're gonna be stuck with each other in the long run, how do you guys feel about spin offs of myungjin and socky


	3. bearing the brunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jinwoo finds relief amidst his problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> myungjin spin off as promised  
> chapter warning: mentions of ptsd
> 
>  
> 
> ~O~

 

~○~

 

_Jinwoo’s lungs are about to burst._

_He bolts through the halls collapsed by shrapnel, sparking wires and electrical bursts illuminating his path in blinding flashes. He passes by bodies; some scattered and flung by explosions, some impaled by steel, some he can’t see buried underneath decks of metal. He clamps down a palm on his nose and mouth, senses clogged by heaps of dust but even more overwhelmed by the seething, pungent stench of burnt skin and hair._

_His running becomes haggard, and it takes him a moment to realize it’s because he’s hampered by the weight of a body splayed across his back. The arm wrapped around his neck is like a vice choking his breath, but he’s not about to let go no matter how much the weight seemed to impede his ability to make it to the escape shuttles. Splotches of black begin to blur around his eyes, and the slower he’s going, the more he feels as if his ankles were anchored by sandbags._

_Then the hull around him explodes, a burst of lightning sets his skin on fire, and Jinwoo wakes up._

_~_ ○ _~_

It wasn’t always like this. 

 

Jinwoo didn’t always wake up sweating in the fresh aftermath of his dreams, skin crawling from the slightest sensation of third degree burns, however brief it had felt on his body. 

It's something like this:

 

When you witness something terrible, one way or another, fragments of it find a way to imprint in your memory. It sticks in the subconscious like a parasite, latching on long enough to serve as a constant reminder haunting you at clockwork, rehashing the event before your eyes as if they were still there at that very moment, and you had no choice but to go through it all over again. 

 

This is a luxury of Starfleet. It’s something Jinwoo knows he signed up for, but never really grasped the magnitude of the consequences until now.

 

In his early days under the Terran military, Jinwoo had already been caught in more wars than fingers on his hands. In those days, wars were prominent, Starfleet was short-staffed, and casualties depleted their numbers to near obliteration. Desperate situations called for desperate measures, so they had no choice but to round up every inexperienced recruit fresh from training and subject them to the frontline.  Jinwoo had the unfortunate luck of being born in the age range of those forced into participation, but to their surprise, he proved to be something more than just a sorry excuse for a cadet when he rose as an indispensable figure of command.

 

Beginning in many operations, he served as a subordinate ensign, others as a lowly ranking officer, but all of which he suddenly assumed command when the acting captains rescinded for gross incompetency. It wasn't their fault; no one had been adequately trained before this. Many people caved under pressure, but for some reason, Jinwoo didn't. He stepped up when they broke down and boldly took the center seat with little hesitation. Soon enough, they regained their numbers under his leadership, and not long after several consecutive victories in field battles, there was a surge of recruits vying for a spot in any department as long as they were assigned to his unit. There's just something about the way he reads people and situations, some insanely accurate cognitive process honed from years of experience living in space than he did on Terran soil.

 

He was only twenty-two when his excellent judgment earned him fleet wide recognition, and the Federation gave him official command of his own ship. It even drew the famous Lee Dongmin himself into joining his ranks and becoming his First Officer. Together, their succeeding missions consistently delivered the best mission outcomes, the best field performances, and the best save-to-loss ratios. 

 

But people often neglected the fact that Park Jinwoo was the youngest of all the appointed senior flag officers. Far too young to be carrying all that baggage. In a career ending move, they made Jinwoo take the most risky of missions, just right when he was at the folly of youth; a time prone to critical breakdowns when pushed too far. 

 

Jinwoo was forced to play dice with the most impossible of odds after he accepted the mission, even when Dongmin warned him that the whole operation had a 'less than thirteen point six percent chance of success’. 

 

No one listened. And it cost them one enormous loss to finally realize Jinwoo’s consistent stroke of good luck wasn’t infallible.  

 

Dongmin tells him the S.S. Voyager wasn’t his fault, tells him he couldn’t be solely responsible for the bodies they were hauling out of the burnt remains of the ship. 

 

He wants to believe it. He almost did.

 

It takes him months to rebound just to finally reveal his face in public again, only to make the formal announcement that he wasn’t planning on commandeering a ship anymore, not when he still can't handle the inherent trepidation of screwing up again. 

 

Jinwoo thinks that's the reason he filed for resignation from the center seat, insisting he needed a temporary reprieve from all the things he had to go through, all the shortsighted decisions that took a huge blow to their numbers. Even when the Federation gave Jinwoo the honorary leave and promoted him to Admiral, he refused anymore opportunities of having his own crew. 

 

Despite everything he had ever achieved, despite the pedestal he used to stand on, Jinwoo decides he's more seasoned for a position behind the desk. However, being promoted to Admiral did not feel as though he’s been elevated a status; honestly, he's felt more like he's become less of what he is, an empty receptacle of the eager and spirited cadet he used to be. He still makes do by being a mentor, organizing meetings, and running panel discussions for the Academy. He's not exactly thrilled by his new job but he's nurturing a sense of belonging, hoping it will blossom into the realization that maybe this is his real calling instead of a life out there. 

 

It didn’t solve his problems. His head had always been pretty aware of the guilt that had hit him the moment he returned to consciousness from the sickbay. More times than he could count, Jinwoo finds himself increasingly bothered by disturbing dreams. Sometimes, its about him dying in his past missions. Sometimes, its about the enemies he had faced. But the worst of them, he discovers, is when he dreams about his crew. The ones who didn’t make it.

 

He sometimes sees them disfigured, sad and often maimed beyond recognition. They never leave his thoughts; the images of the incident burned at the back of his eyelids that seem to reanimate whenever he closes his eyes, like some kind of twisted film in his head that’s destined to repeat ad infinitum.

 

Jinwoo already opted out for help at this point. He’s had counseling, therapy sessions, acupuncture, you name it, but nothing works. So he’s handling his own struggles the best way he could at the moment; he deprives himself of sleep. It wasn't exactly a silver bullet to his problem, but he finds that the shorter he’s asleep, the less chances of his dreams escalating to deep stages where emotions are most vulnerable and potent.

 

It did ward off the nightmares, but only for a short while. Jinwoo was growing desperate to find other means of coping that doesn’t inhibit his ability to function normally as a working officer.

 

He just didn’t know the help he really needed didn’t come in the form of therapy and counseling sessions. Rather, it came wearing its science blue standard medical uniform, the very department Jinwoo actively dodges to avoid getting a physical. 

 

It all starts one day when Lee Jihoon, full time Chief Medical Officer under Jinwoo’s department, part time pain in the ass, materializes his face into a comm screen one morning, much to Jinwoo’s horror.

 

_“Jinwoo, it’s been two months. Report to my fucking sickbay or I swear I'm gonna break your fucking bones myself just to make you.”_

Jinwoo does not even dare upbraid _Lee Jihoon_  for insubordination. For someone who’s supposed to be dedicated to ensuring the well being and health of the people, Jihoon makes an excessive amount of death threats. That CMO was a famous notoriety and a force to be reckoned with, and if there's anything separating Jinwoo from randomly slipping into a coma, it's Lee Jihoon with hyposprays in both hands and not nearly enough self control. 

 

~○~

 

He really hates sickbay. 

 

Jinwoo knows everyone there, especially Jihoon, knows about his problem. How couldn’t they? Back then, Jinwoo was an avid visitor who was still convinced of the powers of counseling. When it had gone long enough and the dreams still kept persisting, Jinwoo decided to make better use of his time and not come back anymore, but sickbay just thinks he’s being uncooperative. There’s a reason why he skimps on monthly physicals and it’s not because he keeps conveniently losing the memos on his calendar. Every time they finish a session with him, they prompt some kind of counseling after, guising it under the pretense that it’s just friendly talk, but Jinwoo knows it's not and he just doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

 

He decides to just go along and get over with it already, so he dials on the entry system and the door obediently swishes by to let him in. 

 

Sickbay is usually manned 24/7 by five membered staffs cycling around in shifts. Interestingly, there is only one person there sitting there, and Jinwoo counts his stars for being lucky enough that it wasn’t Lee Jihoon. 

 

Jinwoo can’t exactly see his face covered by goggles and several other safety gear, but judging by his uniform, he gathers that he's still some kind of medical student in training, albeit in the esteemed status of first class. He’s currently preoccupied in filling several apparatuses with some kind of liquid that looked like black shit and Jinwoo can only hope none of it is meant for him. 

 

“Um,” He calls, unsure of what to say for attention. “Is this a bad time—?“

 

“Park Jinwoo, correct?” The cadet cheerfully inquires, not looking up to check as he labels a test tube. “You scheduled an appointment.” 

 

“Yeah, but I’ll just come back and wait for Jihoon-" 

 

“Just quit it. I know exactly what you’re doing,” he stops mid-work to gawk at him, eyes trained on Jinwoo before he had the chance to make a break for the door. "Jihoon warned me about this; says you’ve been avoiding him like the plague. That's why he sent me to make sure you get a physical.” 

 

The cadet hops off the high chair (which Jinwoo found a bit cute because he couldn’t even reach the table) and swaggers towards him, casting his gaze down the collar of his coat to concentrate on peeling off his mask and goggles. When he finally looks up, he flashes an exceptionally blinding white smile that renders Jinwoo totally unresponsive to anything else. Soft, copper hair and a tan skin as warm as his voice; seriously, he commends Jihoon's clever move at hiring someone irresistibly gorgeous, but his interest on the cadet is far beyond Jinwoo's initial curiosity. There’s something remarkably familiar about him, almost like he's met him from somewhere but he just can’t quite pinpoint exactly what it was. 

 

A snap of a finger brings him back from his dazed confusion "--what?" 

 

"I asked you what was your excuse for missing the appointment last week." 

 

 _Oh_. He shelved an excuse for this, so he answers quite confidently. “I had an important meeting.” 

 

The cadet allows a hint of irritation to show on the creases of his forehead. “Mmhmm. And the week before that?”

 

Jinwoo's head cocks uncertainly to the side. “I uh, felt like arranging an important meeting.” He says cautiously, and gulps when the young man narrows his eyes in a glare. “Okay, listen. I'm pretty capable of taking care of myself, Doctor--?"

 

"Nurse," the young man corrects thoughtfully. "Nurse Kim. But no one, except the Vulcans, really likes to throw titles around here so I just get called Myungjun."

 

"Nurse Myungjun," he echoes, a bit unfamiliar with someone's eagerness to be talked down his position. "I'm an Admiral. You can understand how busy I am and how there's many more important things I have to attend to-"

 

"Your health is the most important thing to me." Myungjun puts so bluntly that catches Jinwoo off-guard, but he quickly adds, 'according to my job description' before any misinterpretation ensues. "Alright, here’s the thing, Admiral Park.” he extrapolates, voice dropping in a suddenly depraving tone. "You're a hotshot around here, I get that. But that fancy uniform of yours is only gonna go as far as protecting your underwear because from what I've seen on your records, you’ve got the most colorful medical history in the fleet."

 

Jinwoo eyes are wide in horror.

 

"I look people up, you know."

 

He swiftly takes out his PADD that already had an inventory of Jinwoo's medical records up on display. "Let's see here: seasonal nasal inflammation, acute rhinosinusitis, penicillin allergy, allergic to nuts, allergic to soy -- allergic to-- heck, you know what, a shorter list would be stuff you're _not_  allergic to. Christ, you're like a walking exposed nerve just begging to get blown off."

 

Jinwoo's only turned to a bright shade of red that reaches the tips of his ears. He's well aware of his own body's shitty immune system, but he doesn't need it read aloud like a grocery list. Not especially when it's being read by someone who looks like the embodiment of the healthy lifestyle magazine. 

 

“If you wanna skip your shots, that’s fine with me. Let’s see how you play ‘Admiral' when your sinuses are all backed up with mucus, you’re covered in disgusting rashes, and that pretty face of yours is bloated and swollen to twice its usual size.” He grins so cheekily, and Jinwoo hates it because is he really going to just brush off the fact that Myungjun thinks he’s pretty?

 

Knowing Jinwoo is bound to comply any time soon, the nurse pulls out a hospital gown roughly the right size for him. "Now either get dressed and subject yourself to a thirty minute physical, or risk exploding your organs like an overripe tomato."  

 

He's definitely got a knack for hyperbole, but Jinwoo has to admit he finds it very refreshing and effective. He doesn't even realize he's already complied until he found himself stripping down from his standard officer uniform; tossing off black slacks and pulling off his division colored undershirt. He obediently slips on the hospital gown Myungjun placed on the bed for him. The blue fabric of the gown feels light on top of his body, and it leaves enough raw skin to feel the sickeningly cold temperature in the room. 

 

“Are you cold?” Myungjun’s voice croons through the door where he’s changing. "Don't worry, I'll raise the temperature so your almost naked ass doesn't freeze off!" 

 

Jinwoo takes the opportunity to exit the changing room and climb on the nearest bio-bed while Myungjun disappears within vicinity, only to return when the lights have slightly dimmed and the air around him is deceptively warm.

 

He takes baby steps in getting Jinwoo to comfortably adjust himself in his position, before tilting his head and injecting a hypo between the crook of his collar and neck, right on his carotid artery. It’s a painful burst of sonic against his skin, as he always hated, but soon enough, a pleasantly warm wave of liquid surges through the course of his blood, adequately dazing him from the sensation. In an endearingly slow manner, he sinks back into the pillows which Myungjun propped up for that express purpose. 

 

"Feeling better?" 

 

Jinwoo's throat hums in drowsy agreement. He's starting to lean sluggishly into bed so Myungjun carefully grips on his loose shoulders to steady him. He gives him a once-over, staring into the hollows of his eyes intently to evaluate them for any symptoms. At this, Jinwoo mirrors his actions and stares right back at him, and he could have sworn Myungjun’s pretty brown eyes twinkled with amusement at the gesture. 

 

He feels kind of giddy with the way they’re gazing at each other with intense and focused eyes, but then again, it might have been whatever Myungjun just drugged him with, so he just leaves it at that. Still, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s known this cadet from somewhere. It’s probably just his imagination, but it’s his stellar intuition that’s pushing the thought. If there was some truth behind it, Jinwoo finds himself wondering how on earth he could have forgotten about someone like Myungjun.

 

While Jinwoo’s deep in thought, Myungjun pulls out his tricorder and proceeds to bathe him under the scintillating lights of the medical scanner, pausing every now and then at the sound of a beep to check a reading.

 

“I need you to take a deep breath and hold it for me, please.” 

 

Jinwoo does as he’s told, but his curiosity is bubbling. “How long have you been training?” he asks with tight lungs. 

 

“Long enough.” Myungjun answers indifferently. "Exhale.” 

 

“Have you ever served—“

 

“Inhale.”

 

“—in the past few years as a medical ensign-“

 

“Exhale.”

 

“—aboard a Starfleet Federation vessel?” 

 

“Just once. Please be quiet and inhale one last time.”

 

Jinwoo’s lips presses primly together as he takes a generous gulp of air through his nose. He’s trying to make sense of all his thoughts but he’s only coming out empty handed. Myungjun monitors something from the scanner and promptly tells him to breathe out, which Jinwoo does so playfully pouting his mouth to make burbling noises.  

 

"You know, your name sounds kind of familiar." He finally insinuates, deciding being covert about it would only be futile.

 

"I think my name popped up in an article one or twice," Myungjun comments. 

 

“Oh yeah? What are you, some kind of celebrity?"

 

“In the medical world. Which pretty much sums up my social life.” Myungjun laughs. "Two years ago, there were these pilots from the Vega ship, and they came back with a disease none of our staff could crack into." He's in the act of logging something on the tricorder as he speaks. "I was still a student in training, a bit of a show-off actually. Wanted to impress the class by daring I could break it down in two days. What the heck, I actually took it apart in two hours. Next thing I knew, I’m a first class nurse with hardly enough pay to justify my work."

 

Jinwoo sits up, interest piqued tenfold. “You’re _the_  Kim Myungjun who discovered the pathogen?” 

 

Myungjun musters the most offended expression. “How many 'Kim Myungjuns' do you know?”

 

“In this building alone? Like, ten.”

 

“Okay, alright whatever,” the nurse blusters with a roll of his eyes. "To be fair, I didn’t know what to feel about a disease getting named after me. Sooner or later, people are gonna start using Myungjunitis as a sick joke, but at least I’m not alone.”  

 

“Death by Myungjunitis sounds like a cute way to go.” Jinwoo feels compelled to say.

 

“Induced vomiting until you feel your intestines at the back of your throat?” Myungjun chokes. “Your idea of death is kind of graphic.” 

 

Jinwoo is about to laugh and agree but he’s beyond making himself any weirder than he already is on the first meeting. “Never mind, then.”

 

The nurse suppresses a chuckle and returns to work with a blush. Satisfied with his respiratory readings, Myungjun raises the tricorder above his chest, letting it reach up to his forehead. 

 

It’s a funny thing, though. Jinwoo suddenly wonders what it would be like to die in his sleep, caught rigid in the middle of his dreams. He wonders if it would be just as peaceful, or as strenuous as he experienced every time he takes so much as a short nap? After a few beats of the tricorder hovering over his head, he suddenly hears an inconsistency in the device's tone. Myungjun pauses to analyze it, and out of the corner of his eyes, Jinwoo notices him parting his lips in mild surprise. 

 

He silently waits for Myungjun to say something, anything that would affirm his acknowledgement of whatever the readings were, but his face only settles into something unreadable. 

 

"Did you know one of the many unexpected things that can actually lead to death is sleep deprivation?” 

 

Jinwoo finds difficulty hiding the twinge of shock born of him mentioning something so coincidental.  "What makes you say that?” He swallows and immediately feels the clench of uncertainty in his gut.

 

Myungjun sighs. "I've seen it. Actually, a lot of it recently." He confesses, letting out a heavy breath that seemed to weigh painfully in his chest. "I know how Starfleet has to overwork the leftovers just because they're way below their recruiting quota.” 

 

Jinwoo shrugs, knowing it far too well. “I guess, but eventually they learn to handle it after enough training."

 

"And it must be going great, since sickbay's confined at least half of the fleet the first month this whole five year thing in space operation started,” he replies, tone dripping with irony. 

 

"They signed up for it. If they really wanted the positions aboard the S.S. Republic, they have to work for it."

 

"Yes, because their only options are either to get killed out there, or rot in this hellhole," Myungjun informs him. "I should know. I'm one of the idiots crazy enough to think he could handle it, but I just don't think I can last here any longer than I have to." 

 

Jinwoo pauses for a moment, absorbing the new information. He's unable to comprehend why someone like Myungjun, a young soul who radiates sunshine and happiness and everything good in this world, would want to risk his life dying in the cold shuttle of a spacecraft, adrift in a void of of absolute darkness and inevitable war. 

 

“But of course,” Myungjun laughs, deceptively cheerful. “I just had to be placed in the unit along with the contender for the world’s biggest asshole.”  

 

Jinwoo tilts his head curiously. “Who are you referring to?” 

 

"Do you know of a cadet called Moon Bin? There’s an elemental theory that states if you try to put anyone in the same room as he is, there wouldn’t be enough space with that gigantic ego of his,” he scowls. “That boy never listens to anyone just because he’s acting captain and we’re supposed to listen to him, so at this point, I’ve already given up and accepted I’m never gonna get out of here.”  

 

The tricorder beeps an indication that it's through and he carefully retracts it away from Jinwoo's chest. There's a tense moment of silence as he bumps up the scanners against the screen of the biofunction monitor, making Jinwoo squirm underneath his blue robes, impatient to do anything about the pause in their conversation. 

 

“Which unit are you assigned to, by the way?"

 

“ASTRO.” Myungjun replies, a bit more pleased.

 

"ASTRO?" Jinwoo parrots in disbelief. "You're part of the top unit the Board's been observing very closely."

 

"Are we?" Myungjun asks dubiously. “Well, I'm not very surprised, though. Even if we do have an attention hogger in our team, we're still shining as a group. I'm not bluffing here but the guys I’m with are the best ones I’ve ever seen in their field. If you look them up, you’ll know what I mean.”

 

“If they’re as good as you say, I can strongly vouch for your team when we discuss it on the panel.” Jinwoo offers, already making a mental note to discuss it with Dongmin once he gets out of sickbay. 

 

“You will?” Myungjun accepts with sheer delight. “That’s very generous. But don’t think that’s gonna get you out of anymore physicals from me in the future.”

 

“I actually think I’m gonna be looking forward for them the next time.” 

 

Myungjun just gapes at him, too surprised by his sudden capitulation to doing the very thing he hates. Jinwoo smiles a bit more encouragingly to reaffirm his sentiments, and it makes Myungjun abruptly turn his back to look at the monitor, but Jinwoo manages to spot the reddish tint dusting his cheeks. 

 

Myungjun diverts the topic by reading aloud Jinwoo's stats. "Alright, so your vital signs are good, blood pressure readings are quite optimal, heart rate’s moderate and the rest is in tip top shape,” he sums up for convenience. "But that's all because I gave you that prerogative hypo you’ve been stinting on. One more week, and you would’ve been an unbelievably fucking mess.” 

 

“Thanks for the head’s up.” Jinwoo nods, and glances at the time. “How'd take that an entire hour when there wasn’t even anything wrong with me?” He asks in the act of shuffling away from the bed, and Jinwoo waits for an answer. 

 

Myungjun stays uncomfortably quiet the moment, deeply considering answering Jinwoo's question. 

 

"I'm not blind, y’know." He huffs out of the blue, sounding affronted. His eyes suddenly looks serious and cold. “I know it’s none of my business, but you can’t keep a storm in a teacup forever."

 

Jinwoo is aware he’s switched to a different topic, but he doesn’t want to acknowledge what he thinks he meant. “Standard, not slang, Myungjun,” he asks, pretending to probe for clarification.

 

“What I’m saying is—“ Myungjun clears his throat with uncharacteristic hesitancy. “If there’s anything bothering you, anything at all. You can always talk to me." There's nothing but sincerity in his voice, coalesced with such worry and concern that makes Jinwoo want to tell him everything. But there's a proper time for that, and it's not right now. If anything, he wants to take baby steps in letting Myungjun know more about his life, worried that if he found out too much, it would scare him away. 

 

“I’m fine." Jinwoo tells him, but the way the corners of his mouth tugged low at his lips clearly said otherwise. “Really.” 

 

Myungjun gives him an inquisitive look, obviously unconvinced by his terse reply, but he doesn't press any further. Jinwoo takes this cue and gives Myungjun an over the shoulder wave as he walks towards the exit.

 

“Jinwoo,” Myungjun calls, halting him. “One more thing before you go out there.” 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You might want your clothes back.”

 

“Right.” Jinwoo pales. The hypo shot numbed his common senses to the point he didn’t even realize his sweet behind is shamelessly exposed by the hospital gown for Myungjun to witness in all its glory.

 

“Here’s your uniform,” Myungjun giggles as he retrieves it from the uniform dispenser and Jinwoo takes it along with his dignity on the floor. 

 

“Thanks.” 

 

Jinwoo luckily exits the sickbay fully dressed. He's grinning like an idiot because he has this weird feeling that some day, Myungjun's eventually gonna be someone more than just his nurse, and Jinwoo's intuition never betrays him. Just thinking about it makes his smile spill all over his face and he has to keep casually swiping a hand over his chin to hide his uncontrollable mirth from passersby. 

 

Even if he had a suffocating schedule in the events that followed after, that night, he returns to his quarters feeling light and happy like he’s never been in a very long time.

 

He even gets a note slipped underneath the gap of his door the next morning.

 

 _Come visit me again._ It reads.

 

It wasn’t signed at all. But Jinwoo didn’t need it to be.

 

 

~○~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> //
> 
> myungjin makes me cry a lot
> 
> also if any of you are actually studying medicine and found my hasty half assed wikipedia search inaccurate, please feel free to correct me 
> 
> next up: Socky!


End file.
